


Love Bites

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute texts, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Shipper Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At first, the hickeys started out small—nothing more than little nips easily snubbed by the naked eye—then, as alcohol content increased, so did the expanse and intensity of the love bites. </p><p>They were drunk. The only thing that would be between them tomorrow would be a stick shift on the heinous drive to school." </p><p>For as long as Dean can remember, he's been in love with his best friend, Castiel Novak. Will their little "after school specials" be enough to bring them together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bites

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Tumblr post:  
> Svtvan: *gives you a noticeable hickey on your neck to create problems in your household*

It started with a twelve ounce Corona, as where all good ideas should come from. Given both boys were lightweights, and, well, _boys_ nonetheless, it didn’t take long until their sex drives kicked in and they were literally at each other’s throats.

At first, the hickeys started out small—nothing more than little nips easily snubbed by the naked eye—then, as alcohol content increased, so did the expanse and intensity of the love bites.

Before he goes off on a tangent of how amazing Castiel smells (spearmint gum with a hint of cinnamon), and tastes (like his mouth was stalking Pop Rocks and his tongue was lapping the wreckage) and whatever other senses that were slipping his mind at the moment, there’s one thing that’s to be understood: There was nothing weird going on. Dean and Cas were strictly friends, a couple of radical teenagers with a common goal: to stir up trouble between their families. They were like Romeo and Juliet without the romance.

The way he saw it, even if he did want something more, Dean was an outfielder itching on first base. He didn’t know much about America’s favorite pastime, but stealing second for a guy on an entirely different field doesn’t seem like a strategic play.

They were drunk. The only thing that would be between them tomorrow would be a stick shift on the heinous drive to school.

For now, he would idle _Baby_ on the curb behind a rosebush, watching his best friend as he ascended the whitewash staircase of his suburban duplex. He glanced at the time on his dashboard. 12:35. Mrs. Novak would be expecting him soon—especially since Cas’s curfew ended two hours ago.

Castiel came from a family where committing anything remotely sexual was worse than pledging first-degree murder. The best part of getting shitfaced and spooning necks was the look of absolute horror on Naomi’s face when she found her son’s throat decorated in hickeys. For all she knew, Castiel was lady-killer who _basked_ in the unasked for but not necessarily unwanted attention.

It was bad enough that his “virgin” soul was being corrupted. Dean couldn’t imagine the expression on her face if she found out her son was messing around with another dude.

He couldn’t do that. Dean wasn’t _that_ cruel. Not yet, anyway.

 

 **New message** , Spock:

_Mother Dearest took the bait._

 

Dean was idling on his front porch now, smiling as he typed back to his recipient:

_-Smh- Ur conviction in me is reassuring_

 

 **New message,** Spock:

_Need I remind you of our little trip to Rocky Point, Mr. Maptose Intolerant?_

 

The senior live-action _lol_ ’d the preceding text. Cas never was one for texting lingo (even when he was completely smashed), not when he could cut straight to the truth with politically incorrect puns. Dean held his snicker until his wonky legs made it up the flight of stairs to his room and typed back: _Hey we coulda been captured by a dozen Inigo Montoyas on a 310 2 Yuma… ur welcome._

**New message,** Spock:

_You and your pop-culture references, I swear. Am I still Spock in your contacts?_

Dean sent him a picture of the Window’s “Error 404 – Page not found” notice.

**New message,** Spock:

Surprisingly, for as much ruckus as he _thought_ he was expertly withholding, Dean hadn’t woken up his parents in the room at the end of the hallway with his giggling. His mom was a heavy sleeper. His dad… well, let’s just say that .45 he kept stashed under his pillow wasn’t just for precautions. If Dean had a dime for every time he’s been held at gunpoint, he would’ve been able to afford his own apartment along with the first month’s rent.

Practice makes perfect, as he managed to make it halfway to his room unscathed before unleashing the kraken from his Hobbit hole.

“Jesus Dean, cover up,” Sam griped, blinking away sleep as he shuffled toward him in flannel PJs, “You look like a Jackson Pollock painting.”

“Why cover up art?” the first-born quipped, even though it was slurred. He was pretty smashed.

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the shit-eating grin his brother was giving him.

“Okay, I’ll bite, who was it this time?”

“Meg Masters.”

Dean honestly didn’t know where the name came from. He has, for all intents and purposes, made out with every Jill, Jane, and Megan in the general vicinity. Meg Masters was Castiel’s possessive ex-girlfriend who basically told Dean to go to hell when he so much as looked at his best friend.

Okay, so he liked to look at Cas. In his defense, Cas was hot—and he made sure to tell him.

 _(“I don’t care that you like guys, Dean,” a pre-pubescent Cas claimed after his friend dealt him a ten minute coming out speech that consisted of a lot of ums and uhs. “I_ do _care when you’re keeping things from me—especially when some of those things are five-star accolades about my aesthetic. If I’m attractive, I need to know.”_

_Dean’s eyes crinkled, below it a coy smile. “Cas, I, uh, you know I—”_

_“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” he finished. “Let’s get back to the part where I’m an Adonis.”_

_“Your modesty precedes you, young Jedi.”)_

Even if, by some miracle, there was a “cure” for homosexuality and he could tap that, he wouldn’t, for fear he’d hurt Cas. He’d rather carve out his kidney with a rusted spoon.

He tried hard not to fall in love with him, he really did.

“Meg? How does Cas feel about that?”

Dean fell ungracefully back to Earth as he mumbled, “Peachy, stay tuned for a hot threesome.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Why don’t you shut your piehole?” A pause, then: “Oh wait, because you don’t know how.”

Finally, the eldest got a handle on his door ( _Was that a double entendre?)_ and before Sam could properly respond, he closed the door. Cas was the only person Dean’s ever willingly came out to—and that said a lot, considering he and his brother have known each other three times as long.

His parents weren’t big on the whole gay thing, and to be completely honest, neither was he half the time—his life would be that much easier.

He would never face his parents, can’t and won’t.

While Dean hated himself for using his best friend the point where he was recreating Scarlett Johansson while he sucked on Dean’s throat, he needed Sam to be kept in the dark. He trusted his brother, more than almost anyone in the world, but couldn’t put Sam in that position if and when World War III broke out. He meant too much to him.

Then again, so did Cas.

Dean fell asleep that night to the X-rated soundscapes from the Impala’s backseat. It wasn’t until he woke up sporting a hard-on that he realized just how royally screwed he was.

***

“ _Ha_ … why don’t we make things interesting?” Cas panted through Dean’s hair. There was a trickle of amusement in his tone that had Dean curious, but not enough to abstain from his actions. He swore on the bead of sweat that trickled down the nape of his neck and onto his tongue that his own had darted out and licked his earlobe.

Then again, it could’ve been his ‘overactive imagination’, as Dr. Mills so moderately put it. “Hmm?” was all he could muster when his lips were lapping his upper breast. The sounds pervading his prized Impala were better than real sex…

“My mom, she _ah!_ —” Dean had climbed on top of him for the extra leverage (at least that’s his excuse if anyone ever asked), causing Cas to push up far enough that he was grinding into him and suddenly the car, despite the make and brand being perfect for things like this, felt cramped. “She’s starting to get suspicious… she thinks… there’s no… because my lips, they aren’t…”

But Dean wasn’t hearing any of it. He knew what Cas was asking of him, and he tried not to let it interfere with the task at hand.

A moment later, Cas spoke up again—this time softer, more concerned: “Dean?”

“Cas…” He had his face buried in the crook of his neck; savoring his smell one last time before his world came crashing down in a blazing inferno. His hands were stilled respectively on his waist and Cas’s were on Dean’s chest because… he was shaking?

A warm hand came to rest on his face, pulling Dean to face him. It was a touch so intimate, so _real_ that Dean shied away and prayed to God that the wetness on his face wasn’t what he thought. “Dean?” Cas repeated, gaping at him with those big blue eyes that involuntarily bored into his soul. “I’m sorry if I asked too much, you don’t have to— _we,_ don’t have do…”

“No, it’s not—that’s not it, it’s not you, Cas, I—” Dean sucked in a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He did know, however, that he was on the verge of using the age-old ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line and regardless of what type of relationship they were in, he couldn’t deign to that level—can’t and won’t. “God, I’m such a fag, sometimes,” he laughed, shaking his head weakly.

Cas overlooked the comment. His hand returned to his face and this time Dean hadn’t retracted. He realized that most friends weren’t this friendly. Nor did they have intense almost-makeouts. Then again, he and Cas weren’t most people. “Dean, what is it?”

He could hear the _Top Gun_ theme ringing in the back of his head and knew it was now or never. “I want to kiss you, Cas—Jesus Christ, you don’t know how bad I want to kiss you. It’s just that once I start I’m…” Another sharp intake for air, then, in a near-whisper: “I’m afraid I won’t stop.”

By the time Dean glanced up to see Cas’s deplorable expression, his lip was quivering and tears were spilling disgracefully from his eyes. He wanted to sprint for the hills, but Cas’s hand on his wrist kept him at bay—a silent reminder of just how brave his best friend was. It was a moment before he spoke, but when he did, he said something that threw Dean into an even bigger tizzy:

“Then don’t.”

This time, it was Cas who initiated the first move, pulling him in with the hand that stilled his face. The pop-culture aficionado’s lips met his before he could register anything else and _God,_ if he thought Cas’s throat was a giant Altoid then he was in for a surprise. The further inside his mouth he went, the better he tasted—and sounded; that was a huge perk.

Before he was only getting the inside scoop on maybe half of his sweet spots, now he had full range. His hands were no longer ghosting along his skin, but groping and grating and pulling him closer until there was no breathing room for their nether regions.

“How long?” he sighed into his mouth between kisses.

Cas’s lips, granted it _was_ his request after all, were swollen when he reluctantly pulled away to say: “Puerto Peñasco, Spring Break. Do you think I’d get in a car with just any deranged alpha male?”

“And there I was, wearing a skintight speedo on the beach, thinking you’d need a little extra push,” he chuckled, burying his face in his sexed-up hair. He felt a smile against his temple and a hand creep into the front side of his jeans.

“Oh, I could always use an extra _push_ ,” he said, repaying him with a devious laugh.

The first thing Dean saw, after falling asleep once again to the soundscapes of the Impala, was Castiel’s naked body draped around his own and fleetingly, as he gazed upon the beautiful sight, thought that he wasn’t so screwed—at least not in the way he originally presumed.

***

 **New message,** Sammy:

8:15am: _Dean, school starts in twenty minutes, where are you?_

8 _:_ 17am:   _Luckily for you,_ _Mom’s already at the nursery. She took the SUV._

8:22am: _Dad’s gonna be PO’d when he wakes up and the Impala’s in bumfuck nowhere._

8:39am: _Uncle Bobby picked me up, in case you were the least bit worried._

8 _:_ 40am:  _Oh my God._

8:41am: _If you’re banging Cas, don’t reply to this text. (Seriously, I don’t want the details.)_

9:05am:  _I thought so._

9:10am: _SMD, big brother. (Or Cas’s…) (;_

_ _

**-END-**

**Author's Note:**

> Picture credits:  
> someecards.com  
> pinterest.com (Pictured: Colin Ford)


End file.
